by Nikki Sloane
“Are you comfortable like that?” I asked.
She shifted her folded legs so they weren’t beneath her, and nodded.
“Good. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Silas’s focus sharpened on me as I stalked toward his chair. Did he like this, how I looked at him like he was a piece of meat? A meal I wanted to devour? My knees thudded to the floor when I reached him and knelt between his legs.
I fumbled with the snap on his pants, but he made a warning sound. His hands gripped my hair and tugged my head back harshly, forcing me to look him in the eye. He didn’t say anything, not with words. His perfect lips didn’t move, yet he spoke volumes, telling me all about how this was going to happen as he dictated. Silas had a gravity that was impossible to ignore. Not that I wanted to anyway. He inhaled slowly, then let the breath out, once again studying my lips. The hands in my hair tightened, holding me still as he brought his mouth to mine.
Good God, his kiss. It was forceful and demanding, like I’d made him wait too long for it and now he was punishing me. But it was the same as the crack of the riding crop against Tara’s skin—a punishment which brought pleasure. A punishment that was needed and desired.
His mouth was searing. His tongue shoved past my lips and it slid over mine. The jolt of enjoyment traveled down the length of my body. I’d swear I could feel his wicked tongue moving between my legs, too.
His lips carved a path, working to the corner of my mouth and then along my jawline, leaving my skin damp in his wake. I shivered as he went lower. A line down my neck to where my pulse raced for him. Here, his lips clamped tight.
It felt good. I closed my eyes, and let him suck on my neck while I rested my palms on his thighs. But a warning alarm sounded in my head, and I jerked away, glaring at him. Was he trying to . . . mark me?
“Oh, you don’t like that? I thought it was your thing, mouth raper.”
I put my hands on his firm chest and pushed as hard as I could, sending him reeling backward so he was slumped in the seat. “You can’t rape the willing.”
I flicked open the snap and tore his zipper down.
Once again, his patterned boxers gave me pause. Black with red images . . . roosters? “Your cock is covered with cocks.”
I was treated to a half-smile, but it faded quickly, returning to his serious, intense expression when I pulled the elastic waistband down, setting him free.
He still had his hands on my head, and his fingers curled, twining my hair. “You want this cock so bad?” he said, his tone stern. “Here you go.”
He forced my head down on him, shoving his dick in my mouth. My fingers flexed and I put my hands on his thighs, signaling to release me, but he didn’t. His grip in my hair, which verged on painful, kept me from pulling off, but . . . goddamn, it was hot. I didn’t love submitting, but witnessing him take charge? So incredibly erotic. I stopped resisting, and a half-second later, the power began to tilt back my direction anyway.
“Yeah.” Silas’s single word dripped with sex as my tongue cartwheeled on him, toying with the piercing. “Who do you like going down on better? Her . . . or me?”
He had my head locked in place and his hips pumped upward, sawing his cock in and out, going halfway into my throat. I moaned, enjoying the sensation.
“What was that?” he asked. “I can’t understand you with a mouth full of my dick.”
Christ, I loved how he talked to me. Before Silas, every time I’d let my mouth run in the bedroom, the guy had gone silent and awkward, as if I’d put them on the spot. Had I been unlucky and always dated men who had dirty-talking stage fright? Or was Silas a freak like me?
I swirled my tongue on his flesh as he surged deep, and sucked as he retreated, and his satisfied groan rumbled out of his throat. “You’re so good, I could fuck this mouth all night. Is that what you want?” His fingers pressed down on my scalp, forcing the head of his dick deeper into my throat. “To suck my cock while I stare at the girl I just let you fuck?”
Heat flared at the thought of his focus bouncing between me and the gorgeous woman on the table. I tensed my fingers into claws and dug them into the meaty part of his thighs, hard enough to get his full attention. He hissed in discomfort and released me, just enough so I could lift my mouth from his saliva-coated cock.
I glanced over to the table. Tara sat perfectly still, wearing only the black blindfold and the loose ribbons fastened around her wrists. She could take them off, but since I hadn’t specified, she’d left them as I had. They probably turned her on, just the illusion of restraint and the idea she could be tied down again at any moment.
“Lay back and touch your pussy,” I ordered Tara. “Get yourself off while he watches.”
Her legs unfurled and she pivoted so her feet were pointed our direction, and then she collapsed back on the table, propping her knees up. Her glistening pussy was revealed when she spread herself wide. Two fingers delved down and began to rub her clit.
My gaze flashed up to Silas, and I smiled as he watched, transfixed by the blonde who obeyed me without hesitation. His hand clenched on my shoulder when I tried to take him in my mouth again.
“I’m going to fuck you from behind so we can both watch her.”
Oh, God, yes. But also . . . “No, you’re not.”
“Why not?” It was a perfect mixture of angry confusion and disappointment from him.
“Because I work here, but I don’t work here.” I clenched his cock in my hands, squeezed, and swiped my tongue over the sensitive tip, causing him to jerk. “I don’t get on the table, and I don’t fuck for money.”
“But you— Goddamnit.”
He throbbed when I had him back in my mouth. It was a stupid rule to enact. Illogical, but I convinced myself avoiding true sex in this room was important. A quiet, feminine moan came from behind me, and he grew harder still. I stroked my tongue up and down his length, following my lips with my hand.
I was quaking with need, though. I had one hand gliding on his cock, and the other up my skirt, touching my soaked panties.
It was anything but quiet in the room.
Silas’s heavy breathing mixed with Tara’s moans, and I joined the chorus when I pushed my fingers beneath my panties and rubbed where I ached.
“Shit, Regan. Fuck.”
All of the curse words, and yet the way he said my name was the dirtiest. The sexiest. I rubbed myself harder, wanting to get off while I controlled how he came. Flames licked at me, hotter than the sun. The power in this room was intoxicating.
Tara’s moans heightened to cries of ecstasy. It sounded as if she was squirming. “Oh,” she gasped. “I’m coming!”
I pumped on Silas as deep as I could, pulling back until the ridge of his cock was at my lips, the jewelry clinking against my teeth, then plunging down. Faster. Harder. My hand clasped him tightly, stroking along with my mouth. And between my legs I ground my fingers against my clit, just as hard and fast.
Everything was tingling as my orgasm approached.
“Yes,” Silas said. “Oh, fuck, yes.”
He had one of his large hands resting on his thigh, and the fingers balled into a fist. In fact, all of the muscles in him solidified. He was right on the edge, and I was ready to hurl him over it. I released my hold on the base of his cock, sinking my mouth down to my gag reflex, and let my fingers brush between his legs. Past his balls to the sensitive spot of skin beneath. I rubbed and teased I was going to venture even further—
Warm, thick liquid shot into my mouth as he pulsed, and Silas’s whole body shuddered. He seized my head, getting me to move on him at the pace he needed to lengthen his orgasm. The moans that came from him were obscene and incendiary.
They were exactly what I needed.
Bliss ruptured from my core, snaking outward. The orgasm tore through me, hot and sharp. I barely had time to swallow before I was gasping for breath. Holy fuck, it felt so good. Almost as good as when he did it. I halted my movement, enjoying every last second of t
he waves as they crashed through me.
I recovered, I pulled off of him, and laid my head on his thigh.
The position was that of a submissive, but I was too spent to move. My eyes fell closed. I had to catch my breath, then I’d evaluate everything I’d just done and how I was going to come out the other side of it.
What the—?
Strong hands gripped my biceps and lifted, dragging me into his lap. I struggled half-heartedly against him, but he was too strong. Too much to resist. I sighed when he had me draped in his lap, one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, holding me.
His face was like a sculpture. Perfectly symmetrical and expertly crafted. I was defenseless against it, especially as stubble darkened his jawline, accentuating his cheekbones. I put a hand on his cheek to steady myself.
“Come home with me,” he whispered in my ear. “If you think I’m going to let you slip away a third time, you’re fucking wrong.”
“I can’t,” I said. “But you can buy me dinner. I hear that’s the polite thing to do.”
Guarded hopefulness splashed on his face. “Yeah? When?”
It’s one meal, I told myself. I could lay out ground rules on how to keep things . . . casual. “I have to work tomorrow.” With any luck, Roland would come in. “Sunday?”
“Okay. You’ll meet me at my place at six.”
Seriously? I gave him a sharp look.
His eyes lit with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Can you meet me at my place at six?”
Inside me there was a tiny thrill, but I squashed it and faked indifference. “I suppose.”
He didn’t fall for it, and victory flashed in his eyes. It was seriously hot. So I squirmed free from his hold and got the hell out of there before I considered redrafting my ‘no fucking a client’ policy.
My hands felt nervous, craving action. I straightened my dress and smoothed back my hair as I strode to the pair of heels I’d abandoned. Behind me, I could hear him doing up his pants. Once I had my shoes back on, I felt more comfortable. I had returned to my role of Regan the sales assistant, and snatched both my jacket and Tara’s robe off the hook. I undid the straps on her wrists and handed her the robe.
As we dressed, I could sense Silas standing there, watching. I turned to face him. “Okay, then. I’ll see you Sunday at six.”
“With the memory card.”
“Yes.”
He had his hands on his hips. In another situation I would have deemed this stance as aggressive, perhaps even threatening, but I didn’t need to worry about him using force on me. I had the terrible feeling that whatever assault he’d make would be subtle. He’d come at me sideways, striking at me on an emotional level, and it’d be far more damaging.
Chapter
FIFTEEN
Silas’s hand cupped his tall water glass and his fingers drew patterns in the condensation that formed there. Did he even know he was doing it?
I’d had my meeting with Shane this morning, revealing the weekend had been another bust. I didn’t tell him a thing about what had happened, nor had I told him I was planning on having dinner with Silas this evening. My first time not being transparent with my handler. I’d lied by omission, which was something I was a little too comfortable with.
I was on a date. It was a bad idea, but the internal thought wasn’t loud enough to hear over the roar of his motorcycle’s engine as we rode to the restaurant, my arms wrapped around his waist.
The place was nice and boasted New American cuisine, whatever that was. The long, narrow room was dimly lit and had high-backed booths against the right wall, each illuminated with a decorative hanging light fixture. We were tucked in the last booth, and as I slipped into the seat so I could face the door and watch people entering and exiting, I got the impression he knew why I had chosen this seat. Thankfully¸ he didn’t make a comment.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Aw, don’t do that.”
He hesitated. “Don’t do what?”
“Be a cliché. You’re not obligated to say it.”
Silas grimaced. “I know I’m not obligated. All I’m doing is stating a fact. I’ll say you look nice if I fucking want.” His expression softened. “I’m an artist, Regan. I love to look at beautiful things, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Christ. His words made me weak. How was I supposed to respond? He was the beautiful one, not me. I swallowed hard. “Okay, thanks. You look nice, too.”
I meant it. He had on dark-washed jeans and a lightweight brown sweater, and its slim fit showed off his perfect form. He’d pushed the sleeves back, and the pattern on his forearm peeked out. It made me long to see the rest of his tattoo beneath the sweater.
Later. There was no way I could look at those pictures he’d taken of us and not want to fuck him.
“I have two questions for you,” I said, after we’d ordered our dinners.
“Yeah? Let’s hear them.”
My heartrate ticked up a notch, but I kept my expression blank. “You said your sister’s a Marshal.”
He considered my statement, but his expression hinted he wondered where I was going with this. “She is.”
“Well, are you two not close? Because Joseph’s club . . .” Would he think my motive for asking was that I feared for my illegal job?
“What goes on there isn’t Caroline’s business,” he answered quickly. “She probably wouldn’t care unless a fugitive came in anyway.” He leaned on the table, cutting down on the distance between us, and his voice lowered an octave. “Don’t worry. After I found out, I promised Joseph his dirty secret was safe with me.”
“How did you find out?” I was dying to know. “Have you been there before?”
He chuckled. “No. I did a cover job on a tat for one of the girls who worked there. Rachel, I think? Joseph sent her my way, and she thought I already knew what she did.”
“That had to be a helluva conversation.”
His eyes gleamed. “Yeah, it was interesting.”
He hadn’t really answered my question on whether or not he was close to his sister, though. I filed it away to work on later.
“What’s the other question?” he asked.
“I want to know what’s wrong with you.”
It was as if I’d verbally slapped him. “Excuse me?”
I crossed my arms and leaned on the table as well, bringing our faces only inches from each other. “You’re a great looking guy. Talented. Successful. And single. What’s wrong with you?”
He looked pleased at the compliments. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe it’s them.”
Interesting. “Meaning?”
His gaze drifted from mine and he seemed lost in thought as he assembled the words. “The last girl I was with, she wasn’t honest.” His tone was resigned. “She didn’t tell me how much she was drinking, or how bad her money problems were. I didn’t find out until she’d cleaned out my gallery’s expense account and got arrested for a DUI.”
Silas scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I don’t want you thinking I walked on her when the going got tough. I tried, but she couldn’t even be honest with herself about her problems, and, yeah. I was pissed she stole from me. If I hadn’t recovered most of the money, I don’t know what would have happened to my gallery.”
In my mind, he had every right to leave her. She’d put his dream in jeopardy. Silas’s hand came down and he settled it on my forearm. The touch of his palm warmed into my skin, flooding every inch of my body.
“That’s what I like about you,” he continued. “You say exactly what you mean. You’re direct. You’re honest.”
My heart lurched to a stop. His statement sliced into me, and the word liar blared in my head, loud and on repeat. I winched and drew my arm away from his warm hand.
He watched my reaction with measured interest. “You all right?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly. “I’m fine, it’s nothing. I’ve been battling a headache
all day.” The concerned look continued on his face, so I smiled as brightly as I could muster, and it appeared to satisfy him.
“What about you?” His hand went back to tracing on his glass. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about exes but I already broke the rule. You said you just got out of something serious?”
I took a breath to get my head on straight. “We were together for two years, and he moved in back in February.” It was obvious Silas wanted more details. “Last month I caught him fucking another woman on our couch. Or girl, I guess. She looked like she was still in med school.”
Tension corded in Silas’s neck and displeasure smeared on his face. “Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“No offense, but he sounds like a fucking idiot.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, they should have gone back to her place.”
“I meant the cheating. If you don’t want to be with someone, it’s easy. Just don’t be with them.”
I held the same belief, so I gave a polite but strained look. “Preaching to the choir. Anyway, to answer your question, I guess that’s what’s wrong with me. Matt would tell you I’m emotionally unavailable. No, wait. Detached. That’s the exact word he used.”
Silas shifted in his seat, and practically snarled it under his breath. “He sounds awesome.”
I cringed inside when the conversation lapsed. I shouldn’t have brought it up.
“He’s not wrong,” I said, surprising myself. “I don’t talk about what happened with this.” I set my fingers on the spot where Silas’s ink was layered in my skin. I needed to stop talking, but the words tumbled from my lips. “It takes a lot of energy to block it out, and sometimes it’s easier to just . . . not deal.”
The noise of the dining room dwindled until it seemed to be only us. Just me and the beautiful artist with gray eyes who stared back at me. There was recognition there, free of judgment.
“I’m sure.” His voice was soft, yet deep. “But you talked about it with me.”